by Song Ying
Zhong went straight in to see Hu himself, without first stopping at her office, so she thought they’d made a prior arrangement.
Hu had interviewed several MBAs who had returned from overseas for better opportunities in China, even the marketing chief at a real estate firm. They were all outstanding candidates, but after meeting with Zhong, Hu offered him the position. Many in the company wondered why Hu would hire someone with no experience as his assistant.
It turned out that Hu had been impressed by Zhong’s performance in the realm of finance. Ah-ying heard that he helped Landmark acquire more than a billion yuan in equity within the first two months of his employment.
“I see.” Nie nodded. He followed with more questions about Zhong.
“Maybe he’ll go back to trading stocks,” she said. “They say he was an amazing trader. His old company tried hard to keep him.”
“Does that mean he may have had a special reason for coming to work at Landmark?” Nie probed.
“Now that I think about it, that’s quite likely.” She took a sip of her tea.
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, Mr. Hu offered him three hundred thousand yuan plus a two percent share of stock. That’s an attractive offer. But if you look closely, a top trader would likely make more than that.”
Nie thought her analysis was right on target.
Whatever the “special reason,” it was not something Ah-ying would know. She did say that Zhong was a cautious but hard worker, with an outstanding performance record, winning Hu’s complete trust and positive comments from everyone in the company. Even Zhou Zhengxing, Hu’s deputy, was impressed. Some of the young women found him attractive, but he did not respond to their advances. A man in his forties was like a vat of aged liquor, or a hefty novel, but no one had tasted the liquor or knew anything about the novel. He was single, had no family or girlfriend, and seemingly never dated. That was unusual.
Nie thought that Ah-ying acted differently when she talked about Zhong, as if puzzled by his idiosyncrasies or displaying feminine admiration. Or, perhaps, both.
Then the topic of Hu’s funeral came up.
“Who could have sent that eerie wreath?” he asked.
“Very likely a woman.” She sounded quite certain.
“Why do you say that?” he asked, surprised.
“I saw a strange woman there.”
“Really?” Obviously, he’d underestimated Ah-ying’s instincts.
She told him that during the viewing of the body she’d seen a woman in a floral blouse standing by the back door. She’d never seen her before, and no one had paid her any attention, since they were all looking in the direction of Hu’s body. Even if someone had spotted her, most likely they’d have assumed she was a funeral home employee. But Ah-ying was curious, because it was nearly 11:00 A.M., and the woman had looked at her watch twice.
“People were stunned when the wreath was delivered, which threw the memorial into chaos. But the woman had a peculiar look on her face, almost as if she admired the wreath, like watching one’s own child on the stage.”
“What did she look like?”
“I didn’t get a good look. She wasn’t close enough and only stayed a few minutes.”
Nie thought it was logical for the person who ordered the wreath to show up at the memorial. She’d be willing to risk it in order to witness the dramatic effect it created; it would certainly be gratifying.
“Can you guess her age?” he asked.
“Middle-aged.”
That matched what he’d learned at the shop.
He said good-bye and walked outside, feeling energized. What Ah-ying had told him was important, for it proved that it was neither Zhu Mei-feng nor Ah-ying who had ordered the wreath. It had likely been a third woman.
One thing he had not expected was that Ah-ying had kept from him the information that the woman actually appeared in one of the photographs taken at the memorial. Her identity would be revealed by an investigative agency. But that would happen later.
Next, Nie Feng met with Ding Lan at the editorial office of Woman magazine.
The magazine had a nationwide circulation of several hundred thousand, but their editorial offices were rather cramped, a common situation for magazines affiliated with a publishing house. The editorial staff was well paid, despite the low regard in which they were held by the publisher, since their salaries were tied to the magazine’s circulation.
Ding Lan’s tiny office was crammed with a desk, a file cabinet, and two chairs, leaving little space for anything else. Her desk was littered with manuscripts, mail, and other items. The covers of every issue decorated her wall; bundles of the latest issue waiting to be posted occupied the corners.
There was barely room for him to stand.
“Sorry this is so cramped,” Ding apologized, then offered him one of the chairs and poured some tea. She looked to be in her early forties. Dressed in a V-neck chiffon sweater, she was an energetic, animated conversationalist, and was considered to be one of the top female editors in the business; many of the contributors to Woman, including well-known writers, had sat on that chair and decided on topics to write about in discussions with her.
“We’re in the same line of work,” he said.
“I quite like Western Sunshine; it reminds me a bit of National Geographic,” Ding said. He was pleased with her positive reaction.
“That’s what we’re striving for, to be China’s National Geographic.”
“Zhong Tao tells me you’re also a graduate of Sichuan’s C University.”
“Right. I was a journalism major, class of ’88. You and Zhong were ahead of me; you’re both so accomplished.”
“You flatter me,” Ding said with a smile.
They talked for over an hour. She impressed him with her forceful, competent, and straightforward attitude.
“What’s your favorite spot in Shenzhen?” Ding asked.
Whenever she posed that question to outsiders who came to Shenzhen, either for pleasure or for business, the usual answer was “the Dingwang Building,” or “Window of the World.” But Nie’s choice was a new one for her.
“Lesser Meisha Beach.”
“Really!” That surprised her.
He went on about his impression of Lesser Meisha. He’d been to Sanya in Hainan and Beihai in Guangxi, both famous beaches. Because of the white sand, Beihai was known as a silver beach, while the sand at Lesser Meisha had a light gold tinge, which was rare. “Blue ocean and yellow sand” was Lesser Meisha’s claim to fame. Then he mentioned the stone jetty, Lovers’ Lane, and the barbecue ground, with its grove of rubber trees and pits shaped like hexagrams.
The conversation turned naturally to the reunion on the night of the twenty-fourth.
“I heard you had a great time at the barbecue reunion.”
“Yes, it was an unforgettable night.”
“Why’d you choose Lesser Meisha? Isn’t Greater Meisha bigger?”
“Greater Meisha is too noisy. Lesser Meisha suited us better.”
She could be telling the truth, he thought.
“Five men and two women, drinking and playing finger-guessing games till dawn. It must have been a lot of fun,” he said with a laugh. “I hear you finished off three cases of beer, and that everyone was dead drunk.”
“How did you know that?” She had to laugh.
“Zhong Tao told me.”
“He and Qi Xiaohui got drunk as lords playing finger guessing games.”
“I hear he was no match for his drinking pal, that he actually got sick.”
“He’s not a big drinker, but likes to play one.” He could fathom her concern for Zhong in her comment.
“He left the grounds before everyone and went back to his room to rest, didn’t he?”
“Not really. He was only gone about twenty minutes. He went back to change clothes. I was with him.”
That was exactly what the police had told Nie.
“I admire him,�
�� Nie said. “One of his schoolmates said he was a rising star in the South’s stock market.”
“That’s true. He’s a financial genius.”
“Then why did he leave to come to Landmark?” Nie asked, catching her by surprise.
“Well,” she hesitated, “maybe it was just fate.”
“Fate?” Nie recalled hearing someone else say that.
“The position at Landmark was really attractive,” Ding explained, as if realizing that she’d said something she shouldn’t have. “I heard it was very competitive, with many talented people fighting over the position. Executive assistant to the CEO, and all that.”
“And Zhong Tao got the job.”
“Yes. His strengths outshone everyone else’s.”
“What I heard was that the CEO, Hu Guohao, was his patron saint.”
“Hu Guohao?” Something flickered in her eyes. “A playboy CEO,” she added contemptuously.
“Playboy CEO?” Where had he heard that before?
Ding rummaged through the pile of newspapers on her desk and handed one to Nie. It was from Urban News two days before; a short piece in the second section reported the incident at the memorial, with a close-up photo of the blue wreath. He was surprised to see that it had already made it into the papers:
SURPRISE OMEN AT MEMORIAL FOR REAL ESTATE TYCOON HU GUOHAO
“A WELL-DESERVED DEATH” INSCRIBED ON STRANGE WREATH THAT DESCENDED FROM THE SKY
PLAYBOY CEO’S AMOROUS TRAIL WHEN ALIVE; A FOG OF MYSTERY AFTER HIS DEATH
“LOFTY ASPIRATIONS, WILD AMBITIONS, A PLAYER’S FLIRTATIONS.” DOES SOMEONE HAVE SOMETHING TO HIDE?
“From our perspective at Woman magazine,” Ding Lan said, “‘a well-deserved death’ is a nice epitaph. A disgusting man who abused women ought to have a worse end, regardless of whether he was a high official, a nobleman, or a wealthy businessman.”
Nie was surprised by the vehemence. Was she speaking as a magazine editor or as a woman? He sensed something else in her angry comment, but had yet to figure out what it was.
Based on information Xiaochuan had given him, Nie knew that the participants in the reunion had told pretty much the same story. They’d had a great time at what was a regular reunion. Ding Lan did not look like a calculating person, nor was she secretive, and she was a fan of Western Sunshine. What he hadn’t expected to find was that she seemed to have feelings for Zhong, and that piqued his curiosity. Nie knew that Zhong was a 1977 graduate in International Trade from Sichuan’s C University, and that Ding was the class of ’79. They hadn’t been in the same department, and yet they had a special relationship, so what else connected them? He couldn’t stop mulling over this new discovery.
* * *
After Nie left her office, it dawned on Ding to wonder what lay behind this fellow alum’s visit? Was there anything hidden in his questions?
She picked up the phone and dialed Zhong’s number.
* * *
Back in the guesthouse, Nie turned on his laptop and visited C University’s Web site, where he found Zhong’s name on the alumni page for the International Trade class of ’77, the year the college entrance exam was reintroduced after the ten-year Cultural Revolution, during which schools were closed and just about everything was halted. Many zhiqing finally were given a chance for fair competition and were admitted into college without worrying about their family background. It was a life-changing experience for many. Zhong clearly belonged to this group.
Then he checked out Hu Guohao.
After keying in Hu’s name, several people with the same name popped up: the CEO of a pharmaceutical company, a bioengineering professor, and an old revolutionary from some county in Guangdong. He also found news of Hu’s death, including a feature piece on him. A brief bio was appended.
Hu Guohao, renowned real estate entrepreneur.
1942, born in Henan.
1960, joined the revolution at the age of eighteen. Notable accomplishments, awards.
1981, initiated real estate development in Guangxi and Hainan, with outstanding performance in a fiercely competitive field. Managed to survive Hainan’s real estate bubble.
1992, moved to Guangdong, where he and a partner established Landmark Realty. Within eight years, his talent had produced remarkable yields: the Landmark Building, Yayuan Plaza, Xincheng Garden Estate, and other housing developments.
1998, began to attract domestic and international media attention; interviewed by America’s Fortune magazine, the BBC, China’s CCTV, Phoenix TV, and domestic print media.
2000, January, chosen by China Managers magazine as the Best Real Estate Manager.
To Nie’s surprise, Hu’s life in the 1970s was a blank. Why was that? He was puzzling over the question when his cell phone rang. It was from the maid at home. His grandmother’s birthday was coming and his mother wanted to know when he’d return.
“In the next day or two.” He realized that his deadline was the next day.
“Has the case been solved?” his maid asked.
“What case are you talking about?”
“Don’t try to pull something on me.” She raised her voice smugly. “I read your article in the latest issue of Western Sunshine.”
It turned out that his editor in chief had added a postscript to his article, reporting that four days after being interviewed by this magazine’s reporter, Hu Guohao was found dead on Lesser Meisha beach. A special report on the investigation was forthcoming.
“You little imp. I didn’t know you could play detective.”
“Really?” She sounded flattered.
“Keep it a secret between us, and I’ll bring you seashells from Greater Meisha beach.”
“Sure, if you keep your word.”
SEVEN
The Second Victim
— 1 —
July 6, Thursday, the eighteenth floor of the East Square Building.
Hong Yiming’s body was found in his office at 11:55. Cause of death: poison.
After he arrived at his usual time of 9:00 A.M., Miss Lin, his secretary, had made him a cup of Green Snail Spring tea, as always; he’d signed some documents and did not leave his office. No scheduled meetings that morning. At 11:10 he called to have his driver get the car ready at 11:30; he had a lunch engagement at Hotel Oriental Regent. The driver waited till 11:45, and Hong still did not show. As a former soldier, he was known for his punctuality, so the driver assumed he’d been delayed and waited another ten minutes. When Hong still had not shown up, the driver finally called Ms. Lin.
She called Hong’s extension. No answer. She then knocked at his door. No response. So she pushed the door open and saw Hong leaning back in his chair, a terrifying look on his rigid green face. Blood oozed from his nostrils; white foam had gathered at the corners of his mouth.
She screamed, so shocked she could barely walk. Staff from other offices rushed over and immediately called 110.
Police from the city’s criminal investigative section arrived first, followed by Cui, Xiaochuan, Yao Li, and police technicians. By then the office had been cordoned off with yellow police tape, obviously by the squad from the city, led by a detective heading a special unit. Cui had a brief conversation with the man before beginning his own investigation.
A preliminary examination showed that Hong had died of acute poisoning. The bloody nostrils and foaming mouth were classic symptoms. Based on the state of the body and information provided by the secretary, he had died between 11:10 and 11:35.
The police began their crime scene investigation as a technician took photos. Nothing seemed out of order in the office, except for a bulge on the rug under his feet. Before he died, he’d suffered convulsions and violent spasms, both symptoms of poisoning. The golden yellow wrapping of a piece of liqueur-filled chocolate lay on the rug by his feet. Yao Li bent down and picked it up; one glance at the wrapping made her shudder. She instinctively looked over at Xiaochuan, who knew what that meant and made a terrifying face.
Twenty-f
ive pieces of green mint candy and seventeen pieces of chocolate liqueur candy remained in the lotus-shaped crystal dish. Yao Li bagged them all.
They questioned some of the employees, including his secretary, his driver, and the upper management staff. A common impression was that Hong had been behaving in an unusual manner over the past few days. He seemed uneasy and less carefree, no longer talking and laughing as before. Miss Lin thought he seemed to have something on his mind, for he’d been openly agitated recently. Once he’d blurted out that he dreamed he was being chased by an old man dressed in red, and had woken up in a cold sweat.
Hong enjoyed a contented family life, no problems with his wife. They had a daughter studying in Canada, whom his wife was visiting at the time. She’d been notified of Hong’s death by phone. There was no note, but the police found a piece of paper in one of his drawers with the character “山” and a string of numbers, identitical to the one they’d found in Hu Guohao’s briefcase.
“Another ‘red tower mountain!’” Yao Li said, while Cui was studying the paper.
Was this some sort of death curse? What did the character mean? Could Hong have killed himself? If so, why? Could he have been frightened into suicide by the “death curse”? Normally suicides left notes, but not Hong.
Cui was stumped.
After they finished at the crime scene, Hong’s body was delivered to the Public Security Hospital for an autopsy. In his stomach and vomit the ME found traces of Tetramethylenedisulfotetramine, commonly known as TETS, or, in simplest terms, rat poison. A lethal white powder, odorless and tasteless, its toxicity was more than a hundred times that of arsenic. A dose of six to twelve miligrams was enough to kill. It was what had killed Hong.
Of the candy Yao Li brought back, the twenty-five mints were fine, but they found one of the chocolates had been doctored. The liqueur had been replaced by rat poison. Which meant that either someone had altered two pieces of candy in Hong’s crystal dish, or had filled the candy with rat poison beforehand and sneaked it in among the other pieces in the dish. Made in Shanghai, the candy was available in any of Shenzhen’s supermarkets. Hong Yiming had eaten one of the poison-filled chocolates that morning, thus eliminating the possibility of suicide. The police found two incomplete fingerprints on the yellow wrapping paper, but they turned out to belong to Hong. No prints were found on the remaining pieces of candy.